Psychology Meets Politics, part 1 of 4: Meditations on 45's Attacks on Linking

Attacks on Linking

 

After the 1964 election, when many psychoanalysts and psychologist speculated on the mental status and personality organization of Republican candidate Barry Goldwater, there evolved an agreement among mental health professionals known as the Goldwater Rule. Briefly, we agreed that we would not speculate about the mental status of politicians unless we had ample information, such as can usually only be obtained under conditions of evaluation or treatment.

 

I believe the last four years have offered just such ample information. Besides the intimate family and financial documentation provided by 45's niece Mary Trump, 45 has been unusually prolific in documenting his trains of thought, his reasoning, and in giving accounts of his states of mind. Twitter is of course a rich source. So are 45’s rallies and the particular encouragements he has thrown out to his supporters. So too are the accounts, whether testimony or books or lengthy interviews, of the many subordinates who have been dismissed from advisory and Cabinet positions. 45’s many denials of having known these people may be regarded as self-serving, but also as finding it easy to deny connection with them. (See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Trump_administration_dismissals_and_resignations for a listing. I counted 185 up to March 2018, at which point I stopped counting.)

 

When I think of our Dear Leader, 45, I find myself thinking of other characters, in history and in stories. I think of Henry VIII, incapable of leading or strategizing, propped up by Cromwell, fancying himself irresistible to women. I think of the folk tale of the Fisherman and His Wife, and how she was never satisfied, berating her spouse who did all the work, demanding greater and greater splendor and aggrandizement, until finally she went too far and lost everything. I think of Pinocchio who wanted to become a real boy, and of the Velveteen Rabbit, who was told that becoming real entailed suffering and acquiring imperfections, and how they both succeeded in becoming real, but only through supernatural intervention. But after reading Mary Trump’s Too Little and Never Enough, an unsparing account of her family’s bleak dynamics, I find myself thinking also about Wilfred Bion’s concept of attacks on linking.

To be continued...

Joyeux Quatorze Juillet

Walter and I always wished that we could have managed to be in Paris, or anywhere in France, for Quatorze Juillet, or Bastille Day as we know it in English. We could afford once a year, and that in the spring, when prices and temperatures were kinder, but we'd always heard great things about the joy of the community celebration. 

We admired the way that dead soldiers were in the national consciousness.

We were moved by the ready understanding that loss and grief are part of life.

We were tickled by the way that the Eiffel Tower peeked in and out and around public life in Paris, enjoyed and mocked, ready to be bought by tourists who were not us.

So much pleasure in the reliable breakfast in the local café, where the waiter greeted us with "Bonjour madam, m'sieur, comme d'habitude?" [Good morning, folks, the usual?]

We adored the way people of all ages met in public for deep conversation. Probably these two were also 'comme d'habitude'.

I was tickled all to hell that the French national bird (unofficially) is the rooster, symbol of an agricultural nation where food matters.

We'd always heard that the local fire departments threw parties for their neighborhoods, with music, food, wine, and dancing. I'd have loved to have taken part in one of those, especially with Walter in his better days.

You can find the French flag, displayed sparingly and respectfully, not draped around people's asses and plooped on their heads. Le Petit Nicolas was the bearer of the security of the French middle class for many years.

Happy birthday, France. Happy birthday, nation of Méthode D, of making things work, of looking out for as many as possible, young and old, of endless discussion and veneration of mathematics, of belles lettres, of living well every day.

Peak of peeks

Recently my stats have shown me improbable peaks from many countries. Portugal! Azerbaijan! Turkmenistan! Romania! and glimpses from Russia, France, Great Britain (a name hated by my Scottish co-grandma, who prefers "United Kingdom", much as she quibbles with United, because at least there is no privileging of Britain), Germany, and, the Czech Republic. If perhaps not improbable, these are certainly unexpected. Not that I'm not delighted to see such visits, because I love the notion that this blog has a broad appeal to a narrow selection of people who live all over. Also an opportunity to use my favorite figure of speech, litotes.

Winter mountains, SoCal

Snow on the Rockies, from 35,000 ft

Snow on Mount Baldy, and how it got there

New snow on the San Gabriels

Bourne on the Fourth

flag in mourning

bedraggled flag

Oath:  an echo

 Allege obedience to the flagging

 Untied States. We’re America,

 toothless Republicans

 with bad-faith hands. Armageddon? Oh my god.

 Almost risible,

 this gibbering injustice. Free fall.

Thoughts on 45’s Statement that the Way to Slow the Escalation in the Number of Cases of COVID19 Is to Stop Testing

Street of the Market of White Coats, Paris

Toddlers playing at the pocket park near 

Sèvres-Babylone

“The sensorimotor stage is the earliest in Piaget's theory of cognitive development. He described this period as a time of tremendous growth and change. According to Piaget, developing object permanence is one of the most important accomplishments at the sensorimotor stage of development. Imagine a game of peek-a-boo, for example. ... Older infants who understand object permanence will realize that the person or object continues to exist even when unseen. Most infants develop this concept between 6 and 12 months.” 

From www.verywellmind.com

The Swiss scientist Piaget

has left us with nothing to say.

            Even if we don’t seek,

            even if we don’t peek,

Corona is still in full play.

The peek-a-boo game pleases babies,

but COVID is risky as rabies.

            If we can’t get tested,

            it can’t be arrested,

an outcome with no buts or maybes.

Good morning Romania!

Swimming through concrete or limestone needs no words.

Note my pink-laced shoe peeking into the shot as I work to get the entire word into the frame.

Bit of a cheat here:  this is actually ENTREE, but the tape has worn off the first two letters.

Good advice in any language.

Hello Romania! In the last two days someone in Romania--maybe even several someones--has looked through this blog. A lot. Many times! Hello, hello! Welcome! (Now I have used up my month's quota of exclamation points.) I do appreciate your visits. If you like, leave me a comment or two so I know who you are. It's always good to make friendly contact across time and space.

Rhymin' Simon

Golden Gate Bridge, not necessarily over troubled waters

Lately I've been craving the songs of Paul Simon. Thanks to the so very portable technology of the cell phone, I can listen as I walk the neighborhood. I knew the album name I allude to above, but I hadn't really paid attention to the man's craft. I'd never though to rhyme Scandinavia with behavior. I never would have come up with a situation where I had to pair radical priest with get me released. and I would have missed the wit of You're cool, you're hot / I'm not. Gives me something to think about other than who is and isn't wearing a mask.